Seen but not Heard
by Doodlebotbop
Summary: Waking up in the hospital, Yanagi finds herself convalescing from injuries she can't recall receiving. Scratch that, she doesn't remember much of anything before today! She learns she has a family, a clan even, and things are looking up. Then she gets the news that while she was quite lucky to survive her injuries, her voice was the only casualty. (OC insert, making it up as I go)
1. 1 Rough Wake-up Call

The earliest memory I can clearly recall was when I was seven or so.

Any recollections before that day are more like the tangled after-images that linger after particularly vivid dreams. Vague mixes of the familiar with strange sights, situations and sounds.

Understandably I was pretty disoriented, and those first few days were more than a little dicey since I didn't remember much. But even if my parents had to introduce themselves like we were meeting for the first time they were still incredibly grateful and excited that I had woken up at all.

Maybe I should fill you in on my condition at the time, might help 'set the stage' as the saying goes.

When I woke up, it was from a medically-induced coma. That was pretty standard procedure for brain damage. Mine was to the tune of a senbon penetrating through the ocular wall and into my frontal lobe a couple centimeters.

Hence why no one who knew the story really questioned why I was acting differently after I woke up.

I can't remember the event myself but I was insistent with my nurses and then my family to get information on how I had ended up in the hospital. It seemed important for me to know! And I did not hesitate much to use my injuries as a guilt fulcrum to leverage answers.

What I discovered from the medical staff was the senbon that got overly friendly with my frontal lobe had miraculously only mildly damaged my eye. Like it was a little deflated from fluid-loss by the time I was rushed in but the medics were able to salvage it. Though, I had to get a corrective lense to have acceptable vision in the field.

And while having both my eyeballs still in my head was super awesome, and an impressive lack of brain damage other than some simple amnesia was a best-case-scenario… well neither of those were my worst injuries. That prize goes to the weaponized needles that went through my mouth and down into my throat. Got my tongue and everything.

I'm actually pretty alright with not remembering that part, to be perfectly honest.

There was some cosmetic damage chipping my front teeth, but luckily those were in the process of being naturally replaced anyways so no big loss. Nah, the biggest loss comes from the laceration of my vocal cords. Not even medical ninjutsu could piece them back together, and because the chakra channel that ran through my throat was ruptured the rest of my voice box had to be removed during the ensuing surgery.

So I've been mute since my earliest recollection.

Upside? Never get in trouble for talking back. Downside? Trying to get someone's attention in a crowd. Or singing along at festivals. And- well… other situations too. But we'll come to that in time.

For now I guess I should fill you in on how I became a child-sized pincushion. At the time I certainly wanted to know! At first my efforts of pointing at my bandaged throat and gesturing with my palms up in a 'Well?' motion just made the adults think that I was complaining about the pain.

No, no I don't want more painkillers! Get away from my IV bag, woman!

(Not that I'm trying to say that I wasn't in pain, because hoo-boy did I ration the times I swallowed anything including saliva because my esophagus was plenty mad about prior events!)

I snuck a look at the clipboard with my medical chart on the end of my bed, but that just told me _what_ my injuries were not _how_ I had gotten them. It was then that I discovered that I could remember how to read after a few tries. For some reason I felt like I had to adjust how I was tracing my eyes over the text before the meanings came to me.

Though it was the same when people started talking to me. For the first few hours after I woke up I felt like their words slipped off my brain, but that could have also been the last of the coma medication working its way out of my system. Luckily my incomprehension did not stick around and I was warned to not use my voice to respond to their questions. They were phrased in such a way that I could nod or shake my head, or indicate more nuanced answers with my hands.

Finally after some more wild gesticulations from their young patient, someone got wise and brought me some paper and a pencil. There was a tense minute where I had to affirm the fact that I could also write. It was sloppy and my hand shook a bit but I was able to ask the question which had been burning on my mind.

'What happened to me?'

The pair of nurses who were attending me at the time glanced at each other before the younger of the two shrugged with the mention that my injury wasn't classified so it shouldn't cause problems.

Pardon? Classified? Like a secret?

In the end I got the very cut-down summary. Bad guy was running from the military police and had the inspiration to cause some mayhem then get away in the ensuing chaos. He prepared a bamboo tube filled with sharp objects and an explosive primed to blow, then when passing between buildings dropped it. Apparently the clattering noise caught my attention from where I had been playing and I went to investigate.

Boom. Senbon meet face. Face doesn't like you very much.

Since my story is a mix of bad happenings and silver linings I'm glad to say that I basically took the hit for the son of my Clan's head! Getting hit that close saved me as well because the metal spikes were designed to shatter into much more deadly shrapnel at a certain distance from detonation, and that would do a lot more ripping up of the little kids behind me. Crime scene investigation concluded that a much more grim ending would have resulted if not for my 'heroic sacrifice'. Heh, curiosity kills cats but not me!

We had been playing in a group and some other kids got hit, but nothing worse than a couple stitches at most. I was the one that one of the policemen scooped me up like a drippy broken ragdoll and hightailed it to the village hospital.

Also that bad guy? He got caught before he could drop another homebrew nailbomb. Turns out he chose a bad first drop location because we had some highly-capable babysitters that were quick to respond.

I never got to learn where the bad guy was from or what he had come to accomplish. That's where the 'classified' designation came in. But what I had been able to learn satisfied me and I let the nurses get back to my physical therapy.

Two months in a medical coma does not play well with one's muscles, no sir. I had a lot of ground to cover as it seems I lost a significant amount of weight.

That was one of the first things I heard from the woman that turned out to be my mother. How thin I was. She swept into the room and immediately I was enveloped in warmth and deep concern for my well-being. The tubes and wires upon my person limited how much I could be moved but she found a way to sit on the squeaky hospital bed and hold me in her lap. Then she proceeded to stroke my hair and cuddle me, murmuring reassurances all the while.

Tension I had not even realized I had been holding onto started to drain out of my shoulders, my jaw unclenched and my breathing eased up. Relaxing into her embrace I lifted my head to look up at her beaming face, lovely full cheeks and stunning amber eyes that already glistened with unshed tears. Seeing her trying to hold back is what tipped me over the edge.

It was hitting me all at once. I had almost died. If the bad guy had used kunai instead of senbon, there would have been much worse damage done. If one of the policemen hadn't opted to drop out of the chase to pick me up and rush me to the hospital with superhuman speed I would have bled out regardless. If I didn't go investigate the noise, me and a handful of other kids would have gotten shredded. So much could have gone so much worse.

But it hadn't. End result was a battered but alive girl too curious for her own good.

My mother held me close and spoke softly as I fought to cry silently. I was not ashamed of my tears, but I had a hard enough time breathing with the respirator mask over my mouth and nose as it was. Tears meant snot, which meant a mess all over my mask and each time I swallowed felt like pieces of shattered porcelain were embedded in my throat.

When I started coughing hard enough to wrack my small frame my mother helped unstrap the mask from my face so my she could begin cleaning up my nose and cheeks with a soft handkerchief. We both blubbered and she was taking care of my face first. I had some of my short hair stuck to my temples and neck from perspiration and tears but I thought that my mom was the prettiest lady I'd ever seen as she continued to reassure and hold me.

(Just ignore the part where I could only remember the handful of people I'd witnessed that day only since waking up for comparison. I still stand by my initial observation!)

My skin was a little darker than hers but not by much. My mother was a collection of healthy curves and a robust figure. She was definitely more comfortable than my bed and after I got calmed down and she started singing a song I almost could remember, I was losing my ability to stay conscious pretty quickly. Waking up and crying had both been exhausting, which is pretty pathetic I admit. But feeling warm, safe and cared for in her embrace I lifted a hand to hold a strand of her unruly strawberry blond hair that fell over her shoulder.

Surrounded by her scent with my mask off, there was no resistance as sleep rose to reclaim me.

I think I got another hour of sleep or so before I started choking. On what I wasn't sure, only that my diaphragm was heaving and my chest felt heavy like someone was sitting on it.

The machines I was still wired to beeped warning along with my mother's panicked call as she alternated rubbing and thumping my back with her firm hand. A nurse arrived swiftly and deftly slipped the mask back over my nose and mouth with one hand while the other clicked up several notches on the device the accordion hose attached to. There was a hum and I felt a rhythm start inside the confines of the respirator - first increased pressure that prompted an inhale followed by a strong suction that drained my laboring lungs of all air.

I just about panicked all over again as I felt all breath leave me. But the nurse had one hand wrapped around the back of my neck and still held the mask, pressing it firmly so that the seal was not broken around the edge. My terror was short-lived as I was provided another full measure of air, followed by another depletion.

Getting the idea that I was not going to be suffocated, I nodded to the nurse a little sheepish and held the mask in place with my own hands. Her grin was not unkind but I still blushed. Really, panicking and not trusting a medical professional? That had been my least bright since the one that put me in here….

Anyways, beyond my embarrassment was the discussion above my head concerning why I had started choking and how the breathy device was meant to stop it from happening. Actually leaving the mask off before was probably a pretty dumb idea in the first place. Oops.

From what I could gather through the conversation above my head, the wound in my throat had done a doozy on the chakra channel that runs from my chest to my head to fuel everything up there. Even with surgery the way it healed was less than optimal. It was kind of a little inside-out? The vessels around the coils that moved raw life force were delicate and there was a high probability that trying another surgery would do more harm than good so I would need to learn to live with the side effects.

Which, it turned out, involved possibly drowning in my own chakra.

What the mask was doing right now was pulling out the hemorrhaged chakra from my throat with each exhale and it would be fed back into my system through what I had been assuming was just a second IV tube. Upon further squinting I was able to make out the small seals along its length to keep chakra flowing and uncontaminated while it was taking a trip outside my body.

Nifty. I wondered if I could reroute my chakra to do something else, or store it like people did with blood donations.

My attention returned to the conversation that had continued despite my distraction. The topic had turned to my tongue, which of course caused me to roll the muscle in question. Ah right, poor thing had been punished by senbon too. Now that I was paying attention I could feel the tightness of scar tissue when I curled my tongue. Other than having impressive scars that had healed funny with the ones inside my throat there were no issues expected.

The nurse had turned down the breathing device back to its lowest setting now that my lungs were clear and figured that early was as good a time as any to give me my first physical examination since waking.

A small flashlight was used to check my eyes and their reactions to stimuli (agh spots!) and I was asked to track a pen moving back and forth. Still sitting on my mother's lap, but facing forward instead of sidesaddle, the nurse inspected my bandages and tested reflexes.

To check inside my mouth the mask had to come off but I was directed to hold my breath and do as much respiration through my nose as possible. I guess my nasal cavities did an okay job at absorbing some of my chakra back into my system but not enough to negate the need for the respirator. Boo.

Some of my bandages needed changing and they were all pretty simple, just a few punctures from other senbon. The exception of course being the wad wrapped around my neck. For this mother had to relinquish me so that I could be laid out on the bed again.

I didn't need the heart monitor to know that I was getting nervous. Not as bad as when I was choking but I still felt apprehension curling up my spine as the nurse gathered several items on a tray then stepped back over to begin with taking a small set of specialized scissors. They felt cold against my skin when slipped under to begin snipping from nearly my collarbone to the line of my jaw.

That was a _lot_ of bandages.

Concentrating on keeping my breathing even and deep helped calm my nerves as deft hands cut on the other side as well. Then the main mass of medical gauze was lifted, or rather peeled, from the front of my throat. Bleh, I am not a fan of the way cloth sticks to a healing wound, the muffled hiss between my teeth was further evidence of the fact.

I had closed my eyes to brace for it, but briefly opened my good one to catch a peek of the removed section. To my relief there was very little scarlet to be seen, if anything it looked more soggy with discharge common for healing flesh wounds. Still, ew. That stuff had come from me.

One part of my mind wished I had a hand mirror so I could watch in morbid fascination, the larger portion however only needed to see the expression on my mother's face to be content with blissful ignorance for the moment. I could see that she had paled a shade or two and was worrying her lower lip between her teeth, amber eyes fixed on my biggest injury.

My hand unclenched from the bedsheet to pat my mother's fingers, when her attention shifted up to my face I gave the best smile I could given my position. I guess it reached my eyes because she gave an amused huff and turned her hand over to cradle my fingers in return. I didn't want her to be sad, her face was meant for smiles and laughter.

Feeling the cold sting of disinfectant application made me close my eyes and scrunch my face up to bear it. Apparently I was healing to the nurse's satisfaction, luck was with me that the sutures had already been removed prior to my waking. I am SO not sorry I missed out on that experience. Nope.

By the end of the examination I had a new less-bulky adhesive bandage stuck to my throat to cover the mess and was sitting up again, this time beside my mother. More notes were taken down on a medical clipboard and I watched my feet as they kicked with my legs off the edge of the bed.

"Well, Yanagi-chan." It took a moment but I glanced up and realized both adults in the room were looking at me. Oh, neat. That's my name! The nurse continued despite my lack of immediate response.

"It appears like you've healed up enough that we can begin the process of your discharge from the hospital. Most likely by tomorrow afternoon." I perked up and my mother hopped to her feet with an agility that I would not expect for a lady of her figure.

"This is wonderful!" I was enveloped in an enthusiastic hug that I would have no hope of freeing myself from, but at the same time didn't squeeze the life out of me so I just hugged my mother back. It felt nice. I think that if the nurse hadn't moved herself out of arm's reach it could have easily turned into a group hug.

"I'll tell your father and the clan! We'll have a feast prepared!" She sniffled, emotional once again but this time for a better reason. And I was in full support of the feast idea! The very idea of food had my abdomen twisting around itself. I probably hadn't eaten a bite of anything since being put under!

A light polite cough came from the doorway, the source being a doctor who had a bemused but not unkind smile. "Pardon the interruption…" He had come to give the scheduled examination that had been completed early, so gears were switched and instead he left the room with my mother to explain some things about my home care during the rest of my recovery.

Meanwhile the nurse helped me get back into position with my bed and raised the back so I could sit up and still be resting. After blankets were over my legs again I was feeling drowsy. And hungry, incredibly hungry.

Sleep won out. As I drifted off I couldn't help but wonder what my father was going to be like when I got to meet him.


	2. 2 Coming Home

My father, as it turned out, could be a bit loud.

"There she is!" The boisterous, masculine voice startled me from light sleep the following morning. A moment of panic jolted through me as I sat up fast enough for one of the wires monitoring my vitals to smack my arm.

My wide eyes were met by an even wider grin as I craned my head back to look up at that morning's wake-up alarm. He was quite tall, at least the tallest person I had seen yet. White teeth stood out against his rather tanned skin, it looked like more than genetics were at work so maybe sun exposure. After seeing my mother's colors, this man's simple black hair and dark eyes were quite mundane.

Time for inspection was cut short as while I was still getting my mental bearings, he had crossed the floor and without preamble cupped my face with both rough hands. Once again I was held so gently that it surprised me-the strength in his hands was easy to feel, but I was handled with care.

"Good morning, sapling." The nickname struck me as an odd choice, but the warmth in his tone and the kiss planted on my forehead, I could only assume it was a term of affection. My mouth opened under my mask on reflex, however as my damaged through failed me I paused a moment in realization then lowered my eyes.

Right, I couldn't return his greeting in kind. Yesterday I had been a bit under shock from waking up and having an information dump. But I was now reminded that I was incapable of saying something so simple, and it hit me harder than I would have expected. It was an instinctual reaction to want to tell him 'good morning' back.

In spite of - or perhaps because of - my break in eye contact, the man neatly scooped me up. (A feat made possible by the nurses helpfully removing the majority of my monitoring wires and such some time while I was dozing.) He easily hefted my slight weight and cradled me with practiced ease. My hands braced on his arms and the small dose of adrenaline from the sudden gain in height was accompanied by my slight shock as it felt like warm stone under my fingers.

Whatever he did, it caused his considerable frame to be covered in corded muscle. And scars. His hands and forearms were pockmarked with lighter skin, evidence of old wounds. The healed tissue was not long and thin patterns, most looked more like something had scattered or splattered to cause the injuries.

Needless to say I had been pulled out of my brief funk, and once again met gazes with this gentle man who lifted me as easily as if I was an infant.

It was difficult to resist his winning smile, and I didn't even try. Even if mine was subdued by my mask, apparently he saw I was sufficiently cheered up because he nodded in a pleased manner.

"That's my girl. Knew this wouldn't keep you down for long, aye." His expression became one he must have thought appeared sage-like, eyes closed as he nodded knowingly with one hand under his chin to complete the pose. He easily held me with his other arm, supporting me under my thighs with one forearm.

I couldn't help it, I huffed softly in a facsimile of a laugh. This earned me another beaming grin.

By this time I had connected the dots that this must have been my father, in all his jovial glory. He was clearly hamming up his act to cheer me up, and honestly I could already feel an attachment to him because of it.

Yesterday I'd more-or-less met my mother for the first time, and today my father. I had no doubt that I would love them deeply soon, because clearly they already had a strong loyalty and love for me. I decided that I was very lucky once again.

A well-timed nurse, easily identified as new to me by the red markings on her cheeks, entered the room and looked up from her clipboard to see her patient being held aloft. At her raised eyebrow, my father lowered me back onto the bed with utmost care. His slightly sheepish expression got another huff of amusement out of me which made him smile at me from behind the medic's back.

"Your results came in from the examination yesterday." The woman began, flipping through what must have been my medical file. "The worst of the danger has passed, you are healing well enough to leave and continue your recovery at home." She seemed quite pleased with this progress, and I shared that sentiment.

I was treated well here but I itched to leave the sterile room and softly beeping equipment.

My father was handed a sheaf of paper and with true seriousness he listened as the nurse explained my care needs and physical therapy regime for the rest of my recovery. I would have listened more attentively, but a young man in the hospital's uniform entered the room holding a tray. He looked to be a teenager, but a young one. Seeing someone closer to my own age than the adults I'd had visit until now caught my attention.

He chose to deftly avoid competing for space on the side of my bed closest to the door. Instead he maneuvered around to the far side of my bed and set the tray down, it contained a covered dish with steam curling from the edge of the lid and a bottle of some kind, from the cloudy tinted look of it I guessed something had been added to water. After turning the tray towards me within arm's reach he pushed his glasses up and smiled in a detached but friendly sort of way.

"Before your release you need to be observed eating something." He said by way of explanation, gesturing towards the foodstuffs he had just delivered. His educated way of speaking was impressive for someone who I assumed was maybe double my age or so. But if he was able to assist at a hospital, it made sense he had above-average intelligence.

Well, while my father was busy I might as well eat breakfast.

Swallowing with my dry throat had been hurting less today than when I first woke up, but I was still a bit wary of what pain could be caused by actual consumption of solids. My undecided thoughts were interrupted by a pitiful squeaking groan that issued from my midsection. I reddened and glanced at the boy, but he just had an indulgent expression.

Right, you probably wouldn't get far working at a hospital if you were judgy about the bodily needs of patients.

Even if he was an apprentice here or volunteer, he probably saw worse than me all the time. With that thought steeling my resolve I reached up to slide the straps of my mask down, letting it hang about my neck rather than removing it entirely.

The scent of the room struck me. Yesterday I had been sobbing, the tears and runny nose doing much to distract and deaden what I could smell. Or rather… what I could taste? When I inhaled through my mouth it was like the air was thick with something. It reminded me of walking through a misted liquid, able to more than just smell the hint of something on the air.

But another gurgled squeak from my impatient stomach refocused my attention on the tray once more.

First I went for the bottle. Pure liquid would be the easiest to swallow I assumed, and my throat did feel a bit parched. My medical chart had mentioned my feeding schedule via a tube to my stomach during the majority of my coma, it had been removed and replaced by the IV when they stopped inducing the unconscious state and waited for me to wake. But this would be the first time nourishment passed my lips the conventional way in some time.

It was unfortunate that whatever they put in the water tasted bitter, and sharp somehow. Undeniably healthy, disgustingly so.

The adults in the room looked up as I spluttered on my first sip. Unphased, the assistant nurse waved off their concern and provided me with a napkin. Red-faced from chagrin I used it to clean myself up. Then determined to reconquer the mere act of _drinking water_ I tried again.

The taste didn't get any better, but I was prepared this time. Victory was won over half of the bottle before a hand was lightly placed on my shoulder.

"Slowly," Glasses boy admonished but not without amusement. "You're not being timed." Then after my nod of acknowledgement he crossed his arms and continued to observe patiently.

Deciding to take my time as advised, I explored the covered dish. The lid had a round handle on top and once lifted aside, released a delicious waft of steam. Mercifully this did not appear to be nutritionally boosted in any way like the water. My mouth watered, my stomach demanded I get that goodness inside me without delay.

With the deep spoon in hand, I scooped some of the creamy porridge up and blew across it with care. The fact that each exhale contained some of my chakra had not left my mind, but other than maybe cooling more quickly it did not seem to have much of an effect. And in my mouth went the spoon.

Let me tell you, chewing has probably never felt so satisfying. The porridge was cooked soft but there was still enough texture in the grains to provide the need to chew. And I took to the task with relish.

Swallowing afterwards was a new test of my pain threshold and tears pricked at my eyes, but a moment later I was blowing on my next bite. If the mini male nurse tried to slow me down this time I might have snapped at him, perhaps sensing that, he remained an impassive observer. Then when I all but licked my spoon he pushed up his glasses again.

"Well done." With that he held his hand out for the spoon, then gathered everything on the tray and without another word he was back out the door.

With my task removed I turned to look at the two adults still in the room with me, jumping slightly when I saw them both smiling at me.

Did they watch me shovel the meal into my face? Feeling the heat rise up my neck for the third time in less than an hour I quickly pulled my mask back up, even if my blush was still visible it made me feel better that I could hide some of it.

"No loss in appetite, good." The nurse chuckled and spared me her amused gaze to add a note to the medical file on her clipboard.

The rest of my discharge process was a repeat of the day before. My throat was rebandaged, with wincing and soft hiss from me. This was something I would be doing for myself during the rest of my recovery, responsibility placed on my shoulders to care for my own wound. And the food stayed down which seemed to be the second-to-last hurdle.

The final task was explaining about my mobile rebreather. Made sense that I couldn't haul around a hospital machine on a dolly for the rest of my life. Instead I was presented a new mask that was more compact in design and traded the long hose for a side valve that fed into a type of collar.

Though 'collar' was an oversimplification. Made of some kind of canvas or durable paper, the material would have enough give for me to move my neck and flex my shoulders, but was designed to keep in contact with my skin. To this end there were straps a bit like a halter from the front that went under my arms then crossed in the back. Thankfully the contraption was not restrictive or overly uncomfortable.

All the fancy-looking inkwork over the material intrigued me once it had been placed on me by the nurse. My finger traced over one of the symbols then my curious eyes turned to her with the hope of learning.

As it was explained to me, the markings were a sealing array like what had been on the IV before. The purpose was to contain the leaking chakra gathered by the mask and keep it pure from outside contamination before feeding it back into my system. Apparently of the coils that contained and transported life energy throughout the body, like blood, several were close enough to the surface around the neck to make a transfusion like this possible.

Usually seals of this nature were used in treatments for chakra exhaustion, where a donor's energy would be drawn out, purified then fed into the patient. Having it work with chakra that was the same for donor and recipient simplified the process.

My father produced clothes for me to wear then dutifully stepped outside to wait in the hallway while the nurse helped me change.

The outfit was simple and roomy, comfortable long-sleeved cream shirt with a symbol of lines within a circle on the back. Under that was soft brown pants that ended above my ankles. Shoes were open-toed and stretchy, thick fabric wrapped around my lower legs which might have explained the short pants.

Lastly was a piece of cloth I was not quite sure what to do with. It was too large to use as head covering, and my hair was not that long to need it. The mystery was solved with the return of my father.

He plucked the deep blue fabric from my hands then crouched down. With care he looped the soft material around my neck, folding it so it was piled a bit higher. If I ducked my chin down I could probably hide my mask from view if I felt like it. But I was grateful to know that my ugly bandage and strange collar were neatly hidden from easy view.

My father got a tight hug in gratitude for the gift. He returned it easily then stood and held my hand. The papers he had been given by the nurse were tucked under his other arm.

"We've scheduled you for a follow-up examination in two weeks to see your progress. If all is well, the next one will be a month." The nurse nodded with a satisfied smile then opened the door to the room and gestured with her head. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Yanagi-chan."

With warm gratitude from my father and a nod from me, we passed her to head into the hallway. At the front desk I was signed out, then lead into the sunshine.

It was midday and bright light caused me to squint, free hand lifting to shade my eyes. The road in front of the hospital was very busy. Patients, visitors and staff regularly passed through the front doors. Other foot traffic was heavy, people dressed in all sorts of styles and heading to many different locations dodged carts and entered street-side shops. In the distance I could see a tall tower, and beyond that a rocky expanse bearing several somber faces carved from the stone. Whoever they were, they must have been important because dang, that would take no small effort!

Swift movement in my peripheral caused my head to turn, the sight of four people leaping effortlessly from a roof on the close side of the road to one on the far side caused my jaw to drop behind my mask. And there was a huge dog right alongside one of them! The cream-colored canine had his tongue lolling in a doggy grin but appeared to be hardly winded at all.

With my efforts to swivel my gaze and catch all the interesting sights around me, it only took a couple of minutes before I tripped over my own feet. My fall barely started before my father simply lifted his arm, taking the slack out of mine and giving me the moment I needed to place my feet in a sturdy stance once more.

"Careful there." He chided with a grin, amused by my gawking of my own home town. "Wouldn't want to have to turn around and take you right back, aye?"

The rapid bobbing of my head in agreement was rewarded with another warm chuckle, his eyes creased with genuine affection. Then, apparently having an idea come to him, his eyes scanned me over a moment before his flashing grin was back. This time with more than an edge of mischief.

"If my little miss wants to act like a tourist, then she should get a great view!" His mild teasing got a slight huff from me, followed by an almost-squeak as I felt two strong arms pluck me from the road's surface and easily swing my slight frame upwards. My hair and stomach actually floated a moment at the apex before warm, secure hands caught my legs to settle them in place.

My small heart was hammering against my ribs and I think I was being a bit unkind to my father's hair, fingers tangled up in it as the first thing I had found within reach in an attempt to get some sort of anchor. The vibrations from his amused chuckles traveled up my body to soften my spine and sooth my tension.

Once I got over the method, I could appreciate my sudden height advantage. I was over the heads of everyone walking on the street. Among the typical brunettes, blondes and black-haired individuals I spotted a couple eye-popping hues that struck me as unnatural.

There was so much to see! The buildings had bright colors and sturdy roofing, shops sported large signs and cheerfully greeted shoppers passing by. Among the crowd were people who stood out to me. The way they carried themselves was different - more smooth? Balanced maybe. Even while laughing in a friendly matter, their eyes scanned those around them. Ever alert. And those were the people I saw with pouches strapped to their legs or waists, or a sheath for a longer bladed weapon across their backs.

For a moment I paused to consider the fact that I recognized a sword when I saw a sheath, but I couldn't remember details about my own life before I woke up yesterday.

Moving on.

The pace my father was able to set on his own was much quicker than when he was being considerate of my much shorter legs. His long strides bobbed me up and down and rustled breeze over my hair. It felt nice, being outside and in the sunshine.

We traveled away from the busiest streets to follow smaller roads that wove their way around residential buildings. Apartments gave way to houses and we approached what looked like a gated neighborhood without the gate. The sprawling cluster of homes had similarities that tied them together, but the area seemed open and inviting. And unlike a walled compound we had passed on the way earlier, no dour-faced sentries eyed us from the either side of the entrance they guarded.

Inside the neighborhood there were more businesses here and there, small operations that were almost exclusively in the realm of food industry. Through my mask I could taste on the air a myriad of scents that had me salivating on instinct. And the high-pitched growl from my middle was echoed by a much more robust rumble from my father.

We paused a moment then cracked up. His laughter was rich and deep, mine was muffled and breathy behind my mask. I felt light, content, even if I was a bit hungry again. I hadn't thought about the pain in my throat since we had stepped outside the hospital.

I might not remember much about this world, but I was certain that I would enjoy learning all about it since I still had the chance.

And I was looking forward to meeting more of my family.


End file.
